


Fire Runs Out

by elicul



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Post Season 8, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elicul/pseuds/elicul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freshly fallen Castiel learns to cope with being human. He moves in with Sam and Dean at the bunker. Each new day he learns more about humanity than he did in his centuries of watching them.<br/>Post season 8, not season 9 compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Fallen" by Imagine Dragons

One night, in the bunker, Dean finds a feather on the floor outside of Cas’s room.

Dean heads for the bathroom where he sees Castiel’s shadow moving around. "I swear to god, if you are molting all over the place, so help me I will not hesitate t-to..." Dean's voice fades out. There are feathers everywhere.

Castiel does not look up as Dean hovers in the doorway. He continues grabbing fistfuls of feathers from the floor around him, trying to gather them up in his hands, but there are simply too many. He is muttering to himself, but not loudly enough that Dean can understand him, so he just watches the angel's frantic movements.

Dean clears his throat, which startles Castiel, who throws himself onto his feet, wings beating defensively, trying to appear larger, more threatening. Dean has never seen Cas behave in such an animalistic manner. Angels had always been so in control, refusing to show any sign of weakness, but there Cas was, panicking because Dean had snuck up on him.

"Woah, man, take it easy, alright?" Dean says, reaching forward to put his hand on Cas's shoulder, but Cas backs himself into a corner at Dean's advance. Dean takes a step back, hands up in surrender. "What's going on? Are you alright?"

"Yes."

Dean blinks at Cas a few times, waiting for more information. Cas avoids any form of eye contact and chooses to instead stare down the feathers in his hands.

"That only answers one of my questions."

As Cas's angel mojo drains away, he becomes more and more human. A few weeks ago, he stopped being able to conceal his wings. Dean had woken with a start when Castiel started screaming in the middle of the night.

Pistol in hand, Dean had gone barreling down the hall to find Cas holding on tight to two pairs of grey wings, although, at the time, the wings were just made of beams of light. Through gritted teeth, Cas had explained that it felt as though his wings were on fire. “They’re burning,” he kept saying, over and over again.

So Dean stuck to what he knew: treat the burn. He helped Cas into the bathroom and ran the shower on cold. He pulled Cas into the bath.

It was the strangest thing Dean had ever witnessed, water streaming down rays of light, as if they could be touched. Droplets fell off the ends of the lighted feathers and Dean reached forward and held the light in his hands. He never quite managed to wrap his mind around it, holding light, touching angel wings, but they felt feverish beneath his fingertips so Dean tried to drench the wings in the cold water, running his fingers through the feathers, turning his brain off because the whole thing was too confusing, and just relying on instinct, his need to take care of Castiel, who sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and did not move an inch.

Eventually his skin got so cold that Dean worried he had turned to stone. It wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing to happen. He shut off the water and asked Cas, several times, if he was alright, but Cas didn’t move. He closed his eyes and sat there until Dean wrapped a towel around his shoulders and left.

As days went by, the wings became more physically present, until they were palpable wings just like a bird's. Sam cut slits in a few of Dean’s shirts, so Cas could stop wearing Jimmy’s suit and tie. He had nodded in thanks when Sam handed over the new clothes. Cas hardly ever spoke. Would disappear into his room for hours. Sometimes Sam would go in to check up on him, find him curled up in a ball on top of the covers on the edge of his bed, wings pulled close to his body. Other times, though Sam would walk in on Cas lying on the floor, fingers tugging on his hair, wings spread out and twitching. Sam would try to talk to Cas. “Get through to him” or whatever, but most of the time, Sam left disappointed that he could not have done more.

Dean couldn’t stand to see Castiel. When they would sometimes pass one another in the kitchen or the hall, he would avert his eyes. It hurt him too much to know that Cas was in pain and there was nothing Dean could do to stop it, to fix it.

So, now, when Dean says Cas’s name again, trying to regain his attention, it’s his first time saying it since the night of the impossibly tangible light.

“They won’t stop falling out,” Cas says quietly. He looks up at Dean and lets a few feathers fall through his fingers. Then he clenches his fists and demands, “Make it stop.”

“You know I can’t.”

Cas storms past Dean and into the bedroom. He throws open the drawer to his bedside table and tosses the feathers in. The drawer is already half full of feathers.

“Why are you keeping them?”

“Why do you keep your mother’s wedding ring?”

Touché. “Alright, I guess I’ll get out of your hair, then,” Dean says, taking a step backward and watching Cas tilt his head and bring a hand to his hair, which is getting long and is tousled like a madman’s from him pulling on it all the time. “I just meant that I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.”

Cas nods.

“Is that, you know, what you want?”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “I’m not sure. I’m not very accustomed to wanting.”

Dean decides to try from another angle. “Are you lonely, being in here by yourself all the time?”

This does nothing to clear up Cas’s confusion though. He knows little of loneliness, as it is still very new to him. He does not answer.

Dean clears his throat. “Okay, well, um. I’ll keep this simple as I can.” He takes a step toward Cas. “Good or bad?”

Although he takes a moment to answer, he replies positively.

“Alright.” Dean reaches for Cas’s sleeve and pulls him over to his bed and sits down next to him, their hands still close, but not touching. He grabs a blanket from the foot of the bed and wraps it around Cas, who has enough survival instinct to get by, but not enough to get by comfortably. He can feed himself, was quick to understand sleep, remembers to stay hydrated with a little prompting from Sam. Cas has watched over humans since they first came to be, so he understands more than Sam or Dean had expected, but he has no concept of comfort. He picks at whatever food is placed in front of him, has no preference about what he puts in his body, which is now his body. Cas is the only one inhabiting this body. It is his. Just his.

And it is thinner than it once was. And it shivers. And Cas tries his best not to hate it, but it is all so new and strange. The blanket is heavy. Feels almost like a third set of wings.

“Good or bad?” Dean asks again.

“Good.” Dean is just looking at Cas, and under his gaze he feels the pressure to say something. “Why are you doing this?”

“Funny thing about humans, they need a little more than just food and water and sunlight. Without it, things get kinda screwy,” he says, tapping his temple with his index finger.

“And you don’t want me to get screwy?” Cas says the last word slowly. It is foreign on his tongue. Much of Dean’s vernacular is new to Cas, riddled with references and innuendo that are simply over Cas’s head, but he tries to adapt.

“‘Course not. You’re a hunter now. Need you to be on your game.”

“Okay.”

"You're kinda a bottomless pit of need now, Cas. Sorta just the way humans are. Right now, what do you need?"

Cas thinks for a moment. "Quiet."

Dean nods and decides to put Cas to bed, the way he used to with Ben. More than just quiet, Cas needs sleep and safety and comfort. He pulls blankets around Cas, brushes his bangs away from his eyes, and promises he won't go anywhere. Sets up camp in the chair in the corner of Cas's room and lets him just get some rest. Cas manages to get a few hours of sleep, before his wings start burning again.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam is sitting in an arm chair, feet up on the coffee table, wrapped in a long grey blanket. Dean tries not to look at the clock.

“What’re you doing up?” Dean asks sleepily. Sam is still weak from the trials. His eyes are still surrounded by bruises, he trembles like a nervous chihuahua, but the coughing and the bleeding and the needing to sleep for several days at a time has finally stopped, and for that, Dean is grateful.

“How could anyone sleep with that going on right down the hall?”

“Right.” Cas’s screams can still be heard from the study. It is beginning to seem as though no place inside the bunker is safe from the sound. Even worse than the screaming was the occasional whimper. The defeated, helpless sounds that keep falling from Cas's lips when he is too exhausted to do anything else. Yesterday, Dean had stood outside Cas's door for a few hours, trying to work up the courage to go inside and ask what to do, "Tell me how to fix this, Cas. Anything, just tell me," but he never quite managed. So, now he's pacing.

Sam and Dean are quiet for a few minutes. Sam keeps throwing his brother nervous glances, offers to get him a beer, but Dean turns him down.

Sam mutes the television and looks over at Dean, who has tossed himself onto the couch. “Do you think we should do something?”

“Nothing to do. We’ve all just got to wait it out.”

“It’ll be over soon, right?”

Dean nods. “Seems so. Once the last of the wings burn away, he should just be a normal guy.”

Sam flips through channels, eventually settling on some western. Neither Sam nor Dean are really watching it, though. Dean can’t tune out the screaming.

But another hour passes and Cas quiets. Sam asks if they should check on him. Dean says that they should leave him alone, that if he were in Cas’s shoes, he would want to sort a few things out on his own.

“I’m not wearing any shoes, Dean,” Cas says from behind them. There's no confusion in his voice, just the snap of Cas's dry wit.

Dean almost smiles. "If my wings were literally burning off, I would want to be alone.”

“Is that what I’m supposed to want?”

Sam takes this one. “No, Cas. It’s up to you.”

Cas turns his attention to the movie. “May I join you?”

Dean gestures toward the other half of the couch. Cas sits on the edge of it, like a bird about to take flight. Dean notices that Cas's hair is lying flat and it reminds him that now Cas is going to have to get haircuts (unless, of course, he wants to follow Sam's lead) and take showers. He's going to bleed and laugh and sleep. He'll start needing coffee and new clothes, he'll be hesitant to engage in hand to hand combat. Things are different now, but Dean doesn't want them to be. He wants Cas to invade his personal space and hold eye contact for too long.

He makes a show of sitting back and getting comfortable on the couch. Sam shoots him a funny look, until he sees Cas try to mimic the behavior. He settles on slouching a little, but still keeps himself in a position that would allow him to spring to his feet and flee if he thinks he has to.

The movie is reaching its end. Bad guys are dead, hero is just about to get the girl, only seconds away from credits rolling. Dean steals a glance at Cas, who is in a torn black tee shirt. There is angry red and pink flesh shining through the slits in the shirt, a sort of blue hue to the space where the wings used to be, but otherwise, Cas looks very human. Deranged and sleep deprived, but human. Dean wonders what became of the bones in the wings, if the feathers are still locked in a dresser drawer in Castiel's room. Dean wants to ask, wants to know all that Cas has gone through recently, so that he can try to fix it, but he knows better than to ask. He turns back toward the movie without saying a word.

They were almost in the clear, until the protagonist removes his hat, leans over, and kisses the pretty blond girl. At the same time, Dean goes to grab the remote from in front of Sam, but Cas gets in his way. There is only a moment’s hesitation before Cas kisses Dean.

It’s innocent. Rushed. More of Cas just slamming his face into Dean’s. And then it’s over.

Dean looks to Sam, ready to begin explaining or apologizing or he doesn’t even know what he is going to say but he feels like he has to say something to excuse Cas’s behavior, but Sam is asleep. Dean calms his racing heart and turns back to Cas.

“What the hell was that?”

“Good or bad?”

“What?”

Cas repeats his question.

“Oh.” Dean thinks for a moment. Cas doesn’t even seem disappointed that Dean needs to think about his reply. He just waits patiently for Dean to say more. “Um, well it wasn’t particularly well done, but, uh, good, Cas. That’s... fine.” He throws one last nervous glance at Sam, who seems to still be quite asleep. “Look, it’s more like this. Close your eyes.” He reaches out for Cas, placing his hand on the back of Cas’s neck and draws him in.

“But you said to look.”

“I know, just close your eyes.”

Cas gives a very small nod of his head and lets his eyes slip closed. Dean places his thumb on Cas’s lower lip to guide it down slowly, so his lips are a little parted. He presses his mouth to Cas’s, but slower than Cas had, with more control. When he draws back, their lips make a quiet clicking sound. Dean begins to make a comment on what a fast learner Castiel is, but Cas is too impatient and leans in toward Dean again.

They are like any couple kissing for the first time, just testing the waters, seeing how the other responds to each little change in movement. Dean puts his hand at the small of Cas’s back and pulls him closer.

Cas realizes that he needs to be doing something with his hands, so he places one against Dean’s chest, right above his hammering heart, tugs at Dean’s shirt, while the other glides over the length of Dean’s arm, feeling all of the scars from performing rituals and proving he wasn’t a monster and fighting the real monsters.

He thinks of when he found Dean’s soul in hell. Returning it to Dean’s body had hurt Dean immensely. Cas had talked him through it, not even sure if Dean could understand him, told him stories to distract him from the agony. When he was done, he erased Dean’s memory of his soul and body colliding again. It was the least he could do, since he couldn’t erase Dean’s memories from hell, it was against his orders, and he wasn’t sure he was even strong enough to do such a thing. He also erased all the scars from Dean’s skin, ironing out all the ridges, letting him start fresh again. He left only a handprint.

How quickly new scars had accumulated since then.

It's nothing like how Cas kissed Meg. Dean uses his tongue to encourage Cas to open his mouth more. His teeth get a little in the way, but Dean shows him to bite and tug, to change pace from time to time, how to use his lips more. Dean is patient, endlessly patient, allowing Cas to learn what he likes and what he doesn’t.

Cas suddenly feels too big for the space that they are occupying, too on display, even though Sam is asleep. He grabs Dean by the wrist with too much haste and it startles Dean, who pulls away and begins apologizing, assuming he has done something wrong.

Still holding on to Dean’s wrist, Cas stands and walks out of the room, leading Dean to the hallway outside of Cas’s room.

Cas pins Dean to the wall, his arm across Dean's chest. Dean wonders where Cas learned to kiss like the world was ending around them, where he learned to be desperate and fast and needy, because he sure hadn't learned it from Dean. Not that Dean minded. For all he knew, the world was burning to the ground.

Let it burn.

Dean grabs Cas so suddenly, spinning him around so he can open the door to Cas's room. Cas feels like someone has filled the air with more oxygen, feels a rush of adrenaline for the first time in his life. He throws Dean back onto the bed, straddles him, trying to be as close to Dean as possible.

It is all so strange to him, being breathless in the best possible way, not understanding how the world feels like it is spinning both faster and slower on its axis, even though he knows neither is true. All he knows is that he's beginning to think that Dean was the cause of all good in the world. Dean has scattered the stars, keeps the sun rising and setting. Cas had been wrong. There is no god, no angel wars, no monsters, no guilt. Only Dean.

Cas tilts his head back as Dean kisses his neck. He acts on impulse, pulling his shirt, well Dean's shirt with two holes cut in the back, over his head, moving his hands along Dean's shoulders and neck and through his hair. He runs his hands down Dean's chest, then slides his hands under Dean's shirt. Dean's muscles harden as Cas's fingertips trail across his stomach, but whether it is from self-consciousness or cold hands against warm skin, Cas isn't sure. He eventually works Dean's shirt off too.

Dean decides not to look at the burn marks on Castiel's back, which run nearly parallel to his spine. Dean is careful not to touch them, can feel Cas shy away from him whenever he gets too close. He knows better than the try to bring it up now, but he makes a mental note that this is just one of those things that needs to be addressed.

That could wait, though. Burnt out angel wings and figuring out what to do about Metatron and worrying about Sam. It can all wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Advice, questions, comments, vivid descriptions of your favorite color, concerns are all welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I'm not sure how sensitive anyone is to this kind of thing, but a monster tries to bleed Dean to death in this scene, something that has happened to Sam on the show before, and well, if I read it and wasn't expecting it, I wouldn't handle it very well.  
> It is depicted as how it is shown in Jump the Shark. It is something that could be considered akin in nature to self-harm or a suicide attempt, so just proceed with caution, friends.

Chapter Text

He likes taking Dean’s lower lip between his teeth and pulling a little. He learns that sometimes he needs to come up for air while kissing, that he likes getting hickeys but does not like giving them, that having Dean whisper in his ear sends shivers down his spine.

And he learns that if he pulls on Dean’s hair just a little, Dean will moan into Cas’s mouth.

They realize everything between them is pretty much the same. Dean still watches Cas when he thinks no one can see him, still looks at Cas's lips when he talks, makes references that Castiel doesn't understand. These days, though, Dean tries to explain them, or, some nights, after Sam has gone back to his room or out on a beer run, they watch the movies that Dean references most often. Cas still sits much too close, his understanding of personal space still limited. When Dean is feeling brave, he traces Cas's hands with his fingers. Most nights, Cas quiets Dean's restless hands by taking them in his own.

Dean still goes out on hunts. Sometimes he calls other hunters, since Sam is still out of commission and Cas hasn't quite gotten the hang of shooting a gun and he opts for hand to hand combat too quickly, forgetting that he cannot heal himself, he is not as strong, as invulnerable as he once was. There is a half formed thought in Dean's head that maybe Cas isn't careless, but rather he's come to terms with his mortality by pursuing it. Because of this, Dean is on his own.

In between hunts, he trains Cas or works on getting Sam back up on his feet. Sam fights with Dean a lot in the days after the trials. Both of them can be incredibly stubborn, Dean in trying to nurse Sam back to health, and Sam in convincing Dean that he was just fine. Cas steers clear of them when they're fighting.

Cas expects the bunker to be lifeless whenever Dean is away, busy hunting the evil. It's a lifelong career. Not one he signed up for, but he's in it until the bitter end. No matter how many things they hunt, there are always more. There is no out, because if you stop, you'd have to ignore all the mysterious deaths and live with the fact that you probably could have helped, but you didn't. Hunters die on the battlefield. And Cas is a hunter now.

So while Dean goes out and does what his father trained him to do, Sam and Cas try their best to learn how to have a normal life. Neither of them are very experienced in the field, but Sam spends time teaching Cas how to cook, the basics of first aid (which required Sam to cut into his arm and walk Cas through stitching it back up, leaving Cas feeling sick at the idea that he keeps causing pain to the Winchesters), giving driving lessons, taking him grocery shopping since they now had a home base to return to. Even Dean doesn't really have much of an idea of how to grocery shop. Sam only knows because his time at Stanford.

On his own, or with people who aren't Sam, Dean is not nearly the hunter he once was. His mind is elsewhere at all times, usually stuck in the bunker, wanting to hold down the fort as if Sam and Cas can't manage on their now. Dean came home injured more times than not. Sam usually ran to the front door when the familiar sound on the Impala came roaring down the street. On days when Dean wasn't literally holding himself together, he'd joke about the way that Sam had always acted like a puppy, especially when they were kids and Sam had to stay in the motel alone or with Bobby while Dean was learning first-hand how to hunt.

And John taught Dean well, but he so rarely hunted alone. Now that there is little other option, Dean came home bruised and bloodied and Sam would fuss about him. Cas would watch Sam's hands, certain that through enough observation, he'd learn how to be able to do this for Sam and Dean when they need him.

On a Thursday late into the spring, Sam starts yelling orders from the balcony just inside the door of the bunker. Cas comes running to see that Dean has a slice right down each of his wrists. Some monster, Cas didn't catch the name, had tried to bleed him dry.

"Help me get him into the library," Sam says.

They set him up on the floor. Sam goes to work stitching up Dean's arms, ordering Cas to go get blood for a transfusion. Sam's got a strip of fabric from his shirt tied around Dean's left wrist and a kitchen towel around the other.

"When the bleeding stops, he'll need an IV and we practiced this, Cas. Just put the needle into a vein in the back of his hand and I'll get the rest."

It is then Cas's responsibility to stay out of the way, but be waiting in the wings in case Sam needs any help.

"Shit, shit. Cas?"

"Yeah?"

Sam has a smear of Dean's blood on his cheek. "I need you to go online, figure out why the hell Dean's running a fever. It's never happened before."

Cas scans through article after article, two things popping up in every one. "It might be a symptom of an allergic reaction, but that seems unlikely. So long as he doesn't have any of the other symptoms: anxiety, chest and/or back pain, trouble breathing, fever, chills, flushing, clammy skin, a quick pulse, low blood pressure, or nausea."

Sam sits back on his heels and watches the blood running into Dean's vein. "I can't know if he has half those symptoms. He's in shock. I have no idea where the Impala is. He was dropped off by some hunter because I wasn't there. He's so stupid, hunting with strangers." He shakes Dean's shoulder once before thinking better of it. "You're so fucking stupid."

Then he is on his feet and walking toward the kitchen. Cas takes a moment before following, he finds Sam pouring three glasses of water, one for each of them, and it makes Cas smile this pathetic little "aw, hun," smile.

After finishing his glass, Sam says, "I can't lose him to a goddamned allergic reaction. I won't."

"Every article says that a fever is common. It might be nothing. Maybe we just... have faith?"

"Have faith?"

"He will be okay," Cas says, thinking about how much easier this would have been if he could just press his hand to Dean's forehead and make sense of the imbalances and injuries. Instead, the best he can do is pray. And he absolutely does not pray. There is no one left up there besides Metatron. All the other angels were wandering the earth, unwilling to help him.

He puts his hand on Sam's shoulder and he notices the way that Sam leans into it. These boys. These poor boys.

Dean looks a lot better after an hour. Color rises to the surface of his cheeks again, his fingers aren't as cold, not that Cas knew from holding Dean's hand or anything. Sam has drawn back, leaning up against the wall with his eyes shut.

An hour and a half into the blood transfusion, Dean wakes up and greets the conscious world with a quick "motherfucker" and a hand reaching to yank out the IV. Sam all but pushes Cas out of the way to get to him and swats away Dean's hand before he goes along and ruin all of his hard work. He takes Dean's vitals and when he is finished, he claps his hand over Dean's shoulder and says, "Morning, sleeping beauty."

Dean tries to sit up, but Sam holds him down. "Just lie there a moment, alright?" Dean grumbles something and Sam replies with, "It'd make me feel better. Just shut up and lie down a minute, will you?"

Taking in his surroundings, Dean notices that Cas is also knelt next to him on the floor. "Hiya, Angel."

"Welcome back."

He smiles fleetingly. "Always glad to be back. Although, in one piece would have been nice."

Cas forces himself to laugh but the sound of it reminds him of pressing an ear to a seashell. He wonders if Dean can hear the ocean in it.

"Alright, Sammy. Time's up. Let me up," Dean says, grunting as he hauls himself up onto his feet, wavering a bit, and looking down at the IV.

"Gave us quite a scare, asshole," Sam says, reaching over to hand Dean the blood that still needs to circulate into his body. Sam's shaking. It happens a lot, since the trials, but Cas isn't sure if it's from cold, adrenaline, fear, or the memory of the last time he lost a lot of blood himself, when he sent it all straight into Crowley's veins. "Don't go doing it again anytime soon. When this runs out, you can yank the IV, okay?"

"Go on to bed. Cas can take it from here," he tells Sam, waving him off.

Sam gives Cas a once over and deems him worthy. He isn't used to being awake for so many hours a day, he is exhausted and Dean can see that, and for once, he isn't going to argue. Because Dean is in good hands. He trusts Castiel. So he nods, grabs his comforter from the couch, the television left forgotten, still playing commercials for toothpaste and antidepressants. He heads down the hall toward his room, looking back for just a moment to see Cas wrap his arms around Dean.

He goes to bed after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Advice, questions, comments, childhood memories that somehow involve the beach, concerns all welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vague mentions of alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism. blatant mentions of suicidal thoughts.

Cas is expecting a smart ass remark from Dean. Dean doesn't hug. Well, not unless he's just gotten back from heaven or hell or purgatory and hasn't seen Sam or Cas or Bobby in months or years. But those are outstanding circumstances. He can't go around accepting hugs after every little scrape and bruise.

Maybe it's just the blood loss talking, but he just stands there for a moment, then decides, okay, this once he'll let Cas hug him. But he's doing it for Cas's sake. Not at all because he's never thought he'd be so glad to wake up from a bad hunt and see the face of an angel. He grabs onto the back of Cas's shirt and whispers, "It's okay," a few times before Cas lets go and leads him to the couch.

They settle in to watch a movie, something called "Saving Private Ryan," but Cas isn't very invested in it (although it looks good. He makes a note to watch it again with Sam sometime later on). He keeps looking over at Dean. They don't say anything. Every time Cas opens his mouth to speak, Dean becomes really interested in the movie, and Cas loses his nerve.

Cas focuses for just a moment. The soldiers have found a Private Ryan. Some man is crying, but it's all for naught because he is the wrong one. Ryan isn't that uncommon of a surname, they should have foreseen this possibility.

When he looks away from the screen, he sees that Dean is nodding off.

"Can't fall asleep with that IV still in you," Cas says.

"Oh yeah." Dean pulls it out slowly and presses his thumb over the puncture until it stops bleeding, tossing the bag and needle onto the table in front of them. It's probably not how a medical professional would have done it, but it's effective. Now Dean is free to go to bed and fall asleep. Only, he doesn't.

He lays down with his head in Cas's lap, traces swirling patterns on Cas's knee, and stares straight ahead at the wall next to the television. He's not sure when it happened, but the movie has been shut off. Maybe it ended.

"Dean?"

He doesn't respond immediately. Grapples with the idea of pretending to be asleep. Cas isn't an angel anymore. He can't tell that Dean isn't really sleeping, so long as he keeps breathing even and barely moves. Then he realizes he is still drawing circles on Cas's knee with his index finger.

"Yeah, Cas?" He rolls over so he is looking up at Cas's face, which has already started to age in ways that it never had when Cas was just occupying a vessel. When Cas doesn't speak, Dean says, "Hey, you got a new shirt."

It's a blue flannel, one that for all intents and purposes probably looks exactly like every other flannel that the Winchesters own, except that this one fits him perfectly. Not too long around his hands like Sam's. Not too limp like Dean's always looked on him. There are no holes in the back of the shirt from when he still had his wings. This is definitely a new shirt. He wonders when Sam had taken Cas out shopping. Wonders how he keeps missing all these things, like since when does Cas know anything about shaving and hang overs and laundry?

He misses so much when he goes out on hunts. Misses watching Sam become Sammy again,even though post-trials Sam drinks almost as much as Dean these days. He misses seeing Cas learn all the little things about being human. Worst of all, he's not here to talk a knife out of Cas's hands. Sam is trying. Always the optimist. But Dean can see it, the way Cas doesn't really care one way or another about anything. The carelessness with the way he fights. How he'll go long stretches of time without sleeping, or he just sleeps too much. The part that scares him the most, though, is the way that sometimes Cas looks like the Castiel of 2014.

Without meaning to, Dean is crying. And he sure as hell is going to blame the blood loss if Cas ever mentions this again. "Where'd it all fall apart, Cas?"

Castiel considers that for a moment. "Somewhere around the impending apocalypse." He had hoped his answer would have gotten a laugh out of Dean, but he is somber as ever. Cas prepares himself. He's not sure what he's preparing for, but he can see the gears turning in Dean's head. They're venturing into dangerous territory.

"I'm sorry this is so hard on you," is all he says.

"None of this has been easy, on any of us. You have to understand, Dean, that nothing that's happened has been your fault."

"I should be here. And at the same damn time, I should be out there. I have to take care of those people, but I have to take care of my family, too. It's too much."

Cas sighs and absently strokes his hand through Dean's hair. "Your brother and I are managing just fine. We need to worry about getting you patched up and in fighting shape again, huh?"

"Keep him away from the cheap booze when I'm not around, alright?"

"Sure thing. Only the good stuff," Cas tries, hoping again to take Dean's mind off everything for a bit.

Dean meets his eye. "I'm serious, man. Someone's got to look out for my baby brother."

"I absolutely will. I've been trying. It's just... difficult. When we're together, we can pretend that everything is normal, that we're roommates in the same shared place, friends. But if I'm not watching him, he drinks. And when he's not watching me-"

"You think a lot about dying."

Cas nods, not even bothering to question how Dean knows that, but he knows it. Cas knows an angel blade can take out a human. Hell, a regular blade could take out a human. It would be so easy. He is now so fragile.

"You talked about it, once. The day you decided you were going to become a hunter. That case with all the cartoon things."

"I remember."

"I just, I need you to know that it sucks, but it's not an option. Not really."

 

"Cas, what were you going to say? You started this conversation earlier."

I love you. "It was nothing, Dean. Just get some sleep."

And Dean fell asleep there on the couch, head in Cas's lap, drooling just a bit on Cas's thigh. For the first time in a long time, Cas just watched him sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Advice, questions, comments, a summary of your last conversation with your mom, concerns all welcome.


	5. Chapter 5

Cas tosses himself onto the seat at the end of the counter. “This body feels like it is made of ribbon, like if someone were to tug at it enough, it would just unravel.”  


“That's oddly poetic, Cas.” Dean grabs the pot of coffee, freshly brewed despite the hour lying somewhere between five or six in the morning and neither of them have slept. Sam sleeps enough for the three of us, Dean has taken to saying recently, even though Sam is making remarkable progress in recovering from the trials, growing stir-crazy in the bunker day in and day out. “Planning on writing best sellers now that you've got your feet on the ground?”  


“I didn't come up with it. A young girl said it to me once.”  
Dean's head tilts. The act is so small, so insignificantly small, but Cas feels himself blush at the way their mannerisms were rubbing off on one another.  


“In a prayer,” he clarifies.  


Dean drinks some of his coffee even though it is still too hot. “Is it quiet?”  


The mug clinks as it hits the granite countertop. The Men of Letters spared no expense. Then there is another clink as a cup of coffee is placed in front of Cas. No cream or sugar was offered to him. Winchester men drink their coffee black. It is an unspoken rule. And Castiel figures, even though he isn’t technically a Winchester, he should follow suit.  


Cas takes the cup. “Hmm?”  


“Without heaven static. Angel radio. Celestial white noise. Prayers. You know?”  


He runs his finger around the rim of the glass over and over. “The physical world is usually loud enough. I like it when the heat clicks on. It sounds like coming home. I do miss hearing prayers, though. Sam's, Bobby's. Yours.”  


Dean brings the mug up to his lips before asking, “Bobby prayed?”  


He nods. “He didn't always know he was doing it. But yeah, Bobby's prayers were always especially angry. Sam's were curious. Yours were quiet and loud all at once.”  


Another sip of coffee. Cas realizes that the gesture serves as a moment for Dean to think. Think about what Cas has said, think of what to say next. Cas burns his tongue on his coffee in order to buy Dean more time.  


When the silence persists, Cas speaks up again. “There was a woman, not horribly long ago, maybe thirty five years ago, whose prayers I especially loved.”  


“Had the hots for her, did you, Cas?”  


He sighs. “No, Dean.”  


Dean puts the conversation back on track. “So, she prayed to you?”  


“Not exactly. Prayers assigned to no one in particular are distributed among the angels. She did not pray to me, but I heard her prayers.”  


“What did she pray about?”  


“She prayed to get away from her family, not because she didn't love them, but because she didn't agree with the choices they made for her. When she was pregnant, she prayed for peace, for a gentle life for her son. She would tell him that angels were watching over him.”  


Dean flinches.  


“Even though she barely knew him, she passed down her faith to her youngest son.”  


More coffee. Cas imagines the sun is rising outside, but there are no windows in the bunker. Even though Sam protests it, Dean has taken up smoking again. Cas suspects that it’s just an excuse to allow Dean some space and sunlight, which are rare in the bunker. Sam says that Dean hasn’t smoked since high school, but Cas knows that to be incorrect, that Dean had taken up smoking again when he was living with Lisa, had been on and off with it ever since.  


Going outside would be easy enough, but none of them do it unless it is necessary. All three feel naked outside these walls. And anyway, it’s the first time any of them can remember when they’ve had a home.  


“You heard my mom?”  


He nods. “I hadn’t realized it at the time, but it was a very precise, calculated move from heaven. It had been planned all along.”  


“What did you do?”  


“What do you mean?”  


“With her prayers. Did you answer? Did you help?”  


He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Dean. I was told not to intervene. It wasn’t my place.”  


Dean nods like he understands, but then scowls into his mug.  


"I wish I could have done more."  


"But it was before you learned about free will. I know. I'm not angry. As usual, I just wish circumstances were different. But we have to play the hand we're dealt."  


Cas takes Dean's hand in his and pulls him closer. He leans his palm against Dean's cheek and watches him for a moment, his eyes fluttering in confusion before slipping closed. He lets out a contented sigh and Cas takes the opportunity to place a gentle kiss on Dean's lips.  


"Come on, you. I need to bandage you up."  


They leave their abandoned coffee on the counter. 

Cas brings Dean into the bathroom where the medical supplies are kept. Various items are strewn across the floor: bandages, sewing kits, painkillers, tweezers. He pulls the bottle of saline and the nonstick gauze pads and wrap and orders Dean to sit on the edge of the bathtub.  


"I can do this on my own, you know."  


"You could," Cas says, not quite believing him, though. "But you don't have to. Hold still."  


The cuts are cleaned and smeared with ointment and wrapped up.  


"I look like a mummy."  


"No, you look like frankenstein. Stitched and taped and glued together."  


Dean shrugs.

"We should get some sleep," Cas suggests as he hears cars driving by on the main road. "We can look for the Impala in the morning. I believe Sam has a tracking device on it."  


"On her," Dean corrects.  


"Of course."  


They straighten up things in the bathroom and walk down the hall to their respective bedrooms. Outside Dean's, Cas decides to be brave enough for the both of them. "Can I stay with you tonight?"  


Dean closes his eyes and nods. Then he opens the door and Cas takes in the look of the room. Lightly decorated with weapons and a few pictures. His clothes are all neatly kept away but his bed remains unmade. This makes it easier for both of them to just collapse into it. Dean sleeps on the right side of the bed and lays on his back with his hands resting on his chest so as not to cause his arms any further injury. Cas lines his head up with Dean's shoulder, making sure his body is far enough away to not hurt Dean, but also close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body, his temperature still a little higher than normal.  


Dean's breath levels out. His hands rise and fall on his chest like waves crashing and ebbing away.  


"Dean?"  


No answer.  


"I'm glad you're okay," Cas says and kisses Dean's shoulder before drifting off to sleep himself.


End file.
